


Far Enough to Hear

by likehandlingroses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 07:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16321805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likehandlingroses/pseuds/likehandlingroses
Summary: From the moment Albus Dumbledore meets Percy Weasley, a precocious child who has sneaked aboard the Hogwarts Express, he sees himself reflected back. A series of snapshots captures the mentorship of a young man with everything to lose, conducted by a man who has already lost everything.





	Far Enough to Hear

**September 1st, 1982**

 

Even without the letter informing him of their arrival, Dumbledore would have known precisely whose children were now standing in front of him. Red hair, up to their ears in freckles...they had to be Molly and Arthur’s. Gideon and Fabian often boasted of their many nephews: six in total, were there not? And a niece, now, one they’d only just missed meeting before their passing. 

Seven children...from a pair of students who Dumbledore could have sworn had only just recently left the halls of the school. 

However, only two of their brood were now standing in the entryway of the castle. The elder of them—a first-year whose already daunting day had now gotten quite of hand—was still stammering apologies at Minerva.

“I didn’t know he was there until we’d left, honest! It was Charlie’s job—Charlie’s next, he’s nine and knows better—it was Charlie’s job to hold Percy’s hand.”

Minerva’s mouth was set in a straight line, but Dumbledore knew she wasn’t angry, not really. For the second child—a boy who couldn’t be more than six and was currently looking about the entryway as though nothing more interesting than a tour was happening—was a novel sight for the old castle.

“Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore said, interrupting Bill’s rantings. “I assure you, there’s no harm done. Young Percy will be sent home straight away. Meanwhile, you have a Sorting to get to.”

Bill looked suddenly far more nervous than he had a moment before. He crouched down to embrace his brother, who reminded him that “Mummy said you would write to me first thing, and then I can write back, okay?” 

Bill ruffled his hair.

“I’ll have a letter out by breakfast tomorrow, Perce. It might even get home before you,” he teased before following Minerva into the hall. 

Percy looked up at Dumbledore, unabashed. 

“I live in Ottery St. Catchpole” he said. “But I  _ think _ I could get home if you sent me on the train. My Mummy could get me on the platform, if you send her a letter. Her name’s Molly Weasley. W-E-A...S...” Percy traced his finger through the air, squinting as he did so, then finished: “L-E-Y.” 

Dumbledore laughed, though Percy--who was already back to inspecting the castle--didn’t appear to notice. 

“Oh, I don’t think there’s any need to bother with trains on the return trip. If you’ll come with me…”

Percy, giving the hall Bill went through one last look, followed Dumbledore, tumbling over his own feet to keep up with Dumbledore’s own long stride. He was still looking around keenly, as though trying to spot something in particular, though Dumbledore couldn’t imagine what.

“Would it surprise you to know, Mr. Weasley,” he said as they made their way to his office, “that you are the first younger sibling to hop onto the train without anyone knowing in over two decades? It was your uncle who did it last...though Fabian threw a fit when my predecessor tried to take him home. This has been—if you don’t mind my saying so—a much less tiresome experience.” 

If he found the story interesting, Percy didn’t show it. He hovered by a suit of armor, looking up at its helmet breathlessly. 

“Mummy said Hogwarts was the safest place in the world for Bill to go,” he said, turning to Dumbledore, who looked into Percy’s wide, blue eyes and was ashamed of not realizing more quickly. 

Of course, Percy was old enough to understand...and yet quite too young to do anything about the world falling apart around him. It hurt too much to think of his students inheriting the darkness and evils of the world around them, but to think there were children as young as Percy Weasley who already understood and were accounting for them as best they could…

“I see,” Dumbledore said lightly. “And you wanted to inspect it for yourself, is that it? Well, what do you think? Is it satisfactory?”

Percy looked back at the suit of armor and nodded. 

“I suppose it’ll do alright.”

“Thank you very much for saying so.”

For the first time since they’d arrived, Percy gave him a real smile before tumbling on down the hall, now a pace or so ahead of Dumbledore. His purpose achieved, Percy became relaxed, more boyish then he’d been so far (though, Dumbledore noted, no less forward). He gave an audible gasp at the gargoyle standing guard at the door, and when they entered the office, Percy only stood wide-eyed in the doorway for a good ten seconds. 

“You have lots of books!” he finally shouted, pointing at the shelves as though Dumbledore might not have noticed. 

“I do indeed,” Dumbledore said, grinning. “You like to read?”

“I can read without pictures, almost!” Percy exclaimed, and Dumbledore knew by the way he said it that Percy had just told him the greatest accomplishment of his life thus far. 

“Quite impressive,” he replied, and Percy basked in the praise for only a moment before turning his eyes to Fawkes. 

“That’s a phoenix!” he proclaimed, approaching the bird. “There’s one in my book Daddy got me for my birthday. That was the twenty second of August, eleven days after my sister’s. Her birthday’s first, but I’m older.”

“Isn’t it funny how those things work out?” 

Percy nodded, walking straight up to Dumbledore’s desk, his eyes not quite reaching the top of it. Standing on his tiptoes, he stretched his arm out to grab the miniature silver clock right at the edge, before seeming to remember what his mother would tell him about touching other people’s things. He chose instead to eye it very hard, his finger hovering around the numbers as he traced a path, murmuring to himself as he did. Then he looked up at Dumbledore, almost indignantly. 

“It’s past bedtime. I didn’t get to say goodnight to anybody,” he said, and from his piercing stare any outsider might have guessed it was entirely Dumbledore’s fault he’d gotten in such a mess.

Dumbledore grinned. He almost regretted having to send Percy home so soon...there was something quite familiar about him. Generally, children so young made Dumbledore feel a bit out of sorts—they needed more than he ever felt equipped to give. But this boy was bright, keen, bold as anything...all things that could take him as far he wanted them to.

Only he’d have to take care, Dumbledore thought. He’d have to take  _ quite _ a lot of care. Especially now. 

“I’m sure they’re still up waiting for you,” he assured Percy, making his way to the fireplace. He stopped before picking up the Floo Powder, looking down at Percy, who looked—he suddenly realized—exhausted.

“Might I offer you a word of advice, Mr. Weasley?  One I wish I’d been given? It’s quite nice, getting older. Growing taller, getting to read books without pictures...knowing things you never knew before. But you must make sure your heart grows right along with everything else, or you’ll give yourself much less credit than you deserve.”

Percy stared at him, mouth slightly open, before looking down at his chest. 

“Your heart is on the left side,” he said, prodding it with his hand. “You can feel it sometimes if you listen really hard after you run really far. Sometimes you can.” 

“How right you are,” Dumbledore said softly. “Now, shall we get you home?”

* * *

 

**March 15th, 1994**

 

“I would of course be delighted to write you a letter, Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore said, staring across his desk at Percy, whose face had broken out into a grin at his words. “I must warn you, however, that if your aims are what I believe them to be, my words of recommendation are liable to do as much harm as they will good.” 

Percy’s face fell. So many years later, and he’d not managed to become any less transparent than the small boy Dumbledore had first met. A good thing too, Dumbledore thought, for now he knew the danger that lay ahead. 

“I’m sure that’s not…” Percy stammed. “I mean to say, everyone thinks you’re…” 

“Flattered as I am by your confidence, there is no denying I’ve made many enemies,” Dumbledore interrupted. “The cost, no doubt, of speaking too much out of turn. Now, if that reality is agreeable to you…”

“But,sir, surely you’re the greatest wizard of our time,” Percy proclaimed. “Anyone would—”

“—do  _ you  _ believe that to be true?” 

Percy leaned back in his chair, looking baffled. 

“I...everyone…”

Dumbledore nodded. 

“Very good, then. I shall write you a letter, saying that everyone I’ve spoken to thinks you are a quick study, an industrious leader, and an entirely competent wizard. That is what you want, yes?” 

He looked at Percy over his spectacles. The boy had gone beet red. 

“Well...I’m not sure I…”

“...you wish for me to say what my own impression of you has been,” Dumbledore said. “And you’re quite right too, for it would make a much better letter. I will do so, then.”

But Percy, still looking mortified, pressed on. It wasn’t enough to have the letter. 

Good. Very good. 

“Sir, if I’ve said something…” he said, his fingers clutching the arms of the chair. “That is to say, I didn’t mean to—”

“Forgive me,” Dumbledore cut him off. “I forget, sometimes, how much easier it is to know one’s mind when one has spent decades living in it. I have no doubt you’ll find it simpler in time as well.”

“Of course,” Percy said eagerly. “Of course, I’ll...I’ll remember that.” 

“Don’t mistake my meaning: you needn’t rush things,” Dumbledore said. “You must have intent, you must be clear of purpose. But you needn’t rush matters; anyone telling you otherwise is hoping you’ll trip over your own two feet. You understand?” 

He didn’t, not at all. How could he? He was young, still a child. 

But he couldn’t stay that way, not for much longer.

“I...I think so,” Percy lied. “Yes.” 

“Very well,” Dumbledore said, knowing he’d done all he could for the moment. “I’ll have that letter to you by week’s end.” 

* * *

**February 24th, 1995**

 

“Your brother will be just fine,” Dumbledore said, approaching Percy, who was still staring at the lake, though Ron and everyone else had long since come out of it. 

“What?” he said, looking dazed before recovering, drawing his shoulders back. “Oh, yes. Yes, of course he will. It was all carefully set, he was never in real danger...” 

“And yet, the heart rarely heeds such logical parameters.”

“They were under for a long while,” Percy insisted, as though determined to prove  _ his _ heart was as logical as anything. 

“Oh, you needn’t explain yourself to me,” Dumbledore said with a wave of his hand. “I found it deeply admirable, in fact. And so does your brother, though he may feign embarrassment.”

Percy went pink, though Dumbledore was sure he wanted to smile. 

“Oi! Weatherby!”

Fred and George approached from across the way, both of them bundled up in Weasley sweaters and mismatched mittens. 

“Full points?” George said, good-naturedly knocking Percy on the shoulder. “For moral fiber? And we thought for sure you’d nail him on the time limit!”

Percy stood up straighter. 

“I’m sure Mr. Crouch would agree with me: the aim of the tournament is to celebrate wizardry, not merely as a set of skills, but as a thing of substance,” he said, his tone sanctimonious. “Magic is both a privilege and responsibility. Harry—”

“—was a bloody prat who thought it was all real,” Fred laughed. “Figured you’d have known better, though.” 

He scanned down to Percy’s robes and shoes, which were still wet as could be from when he’d raced into the water. Percy bristled. 

“Being held underwater—however magically suspended—is nothing to joke about!” he insisted. “It was a highly serious, carefully crafted endeavor that might have easily gone wrong, and—”

“Alright, keep your shirt on,” Fred said, smiling. 

“Ron’ll be fine,” George said. “Already heard him milking the story—”

“—Merlin, he’s going to be insufferable...well, see you, Perce.”

Percy’s eyes lingered on his brothers as they tramped back to the castle. He looked—for a moment—as though he wished to join them, but instead pushed up his glasses and turned to Dumbledore. 

“I’m sorry about—”

“I wouldn't be much of a headmaster if I begrudged teenagers their uncouthness.” Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively. He hesitated before adding: “I hope you’ll forgive my saying so, but I think that was as close to a ringing endorsement from your brothers as you’ve heard in many years.”

Percy blinked, but otherwise did not show any sign that he’d heard Dumbledore. 

“They aren’t causing you too much trouble?” he asked.

“Oh, I’d be terribly disappointed if they weren’t,” Dumbledore said. “And so would you.” 

Percy shook his head, looking for all the world like his mother. 

“Their antics are going to get them in trouble, I know it,” he said. “And I can’t help but worry—”

“Has it occurred to you, Mr. Weasley, that they worry for you?” Dumbledore pressed.

But Percy—who straightened up and looked quite baffled at Dumbledore’s statement—remained impenetrable.  

“Me?” he stammered. “Well, I…if you mean that they think it’s a great tragedy to become a responsible member of society, then I—”

Dumbledore smiled. “That is not what I meant, but let us leave the subject alone for now; I shouldn’t have pried. You tell Barty I’ve said hello.” 

* * *

 

**June 27, 1997**

 

“I can arrange for Thursday at two. Is that agreeable?”

Though Percy was white as a sheet while he said it, Dumbledore noted that the quill in his hand was steady. He hadn’t yet looked higher than Dumbledore’s chin the entire conversation. 

“Of course it isn’t, and the Minister knows it,” Dumbledore sighed. “Still, we must get on as we can. I will come back, if it’s what Rufus requires.”

He turned to leave, but Percy’s brittle voice called out: 

“I have a slip for you—”

Eyes turned down towards his desk, Percy was indeed holding out a piece of parchment, which trembled ever so slightly. Dumbledore took it in his good hand, paused to take in the way Percy didn’t seem to want to breathe until he’d left the front office, then spoke.

“What I’m about to say to you might seem quite pitying, or perhaps come off as a slight: I assure you I mean neither,” he said, leaning in towards Percy’s still impassive form. “But an old man worries more about time the older he gets, and sometimes pragmatism must take precedence over pride. You should know that—to my mind—all is forgiven, and I wish you only the best.” 

Percy looked down sharply, suddenly, as if what he’d really like to do was curl up under his desk and be forgotten for a few hours. The back of his neck was flushed, and if Dumbledore could have stopped, he would. But if he said nothing, knowing what the consequences might be, he’d have to answer to someone, somewhere. He was sure of it--even if that person was only himself, for all of eternity. 

“Unfortunately,” he continued, “I must tell you: you’ll find few other people will offer such absolution until you ask for it. A frustrating truth, to be sure. But one I have every confidence you can face, in due time.” 

Percy took a deep breath, his shoulders going up to near his ears before slacking, then he looked up, just to the middle of Dumbledore’s beard, and said in a blank, vacant voice: 

“Two o’clock. Thursday. The, uh…”

“The third,” Dumbledore prompted. “Thank you very much.” 

Again, he was pulled back by Percy’s voice, though strangely enough it now sounded more robust than before. 

“You’ll want to come early,” he said, and when Dumbledore turned around he met his eye for a full moment before looking down at his desk. “Security checks, you know. We’ve been behind all month because of them.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Naturally. Though, if I may say so, our current Minister has never been known for his skill in navigating office efficiency. He has a great many skills, but alas...keeping to a calendar is not one of them.”

Percy actually smiled, waving a hand over the haphazard pile of parchment and binders on his desk. “It changes hour to hour, and he says it’s for this or that reason, but the reason is never the same, and I’m beginning to think he hasn’t got one, he just is feeling out to see what he can get away with before people get aggravated. Which is quite a risk, when you think about what happened to the last…”

He stopped short, shaking his head. “Well, it’s easiest just to tell everyone to come a bit early.”

“A clever solution from a clear mind,” Dumbledore said. “That’s what will get everything managed, in the end. I feel sure of it. Good day, Mr. Weasley.”

Percy looked at him, again, and Dumbledore didn’t think he was imagining the flash of understanding in his eyes. It was unlikely they would ever encounter each other again. 

“Good day.” 

* * *

**September 1st, 2012**

 

The door to the headmaster’s office swung open, and Percy Weasley stumbled in, looking disheveled. A little girl who had been sitting in a massive armchair across from Minerva McGonagall jumped up and rushed into his arms. 

“Daddy!”

“Lucy! Why did you... _ how  _ did you?”

Percy pulled his daughter off of him so he could crouch down and inspect her, as though she’d spent the day on a dangerous misadventure and not a cushy, comfortable train ride to one of the most well protected places in the world. 

“I’m so sorry about this, Headmistress,” he said, after giving Lucy a thorough looking over. “George had them all over last night—my nephew Fred’s birthday, you know—and he had it in his head to take them all to see Victoire off the next morning. And I told him half a dozen times I could pick my girls up, that he’d lose track of so many children, but did he listen? Of course not...and then—if you can believe it—he doesn’t say a word to me about it until this evening when I came to fetch them! She’s at Hogwarts, he says! Cool as anything…but you know how he is.”

Then, without waiting for Minerva to reply, he looked back down at Lucy. 

“Why on  _ earth _ didn’t you stay on the platform with your sister?” 

Lucy grinned, unperturbed by her father’s fussing. 

“I wanted to go on the train,” she replied. “There was a whole cart with just candy!!” 

Percy blinked. 

“Yes, well...well, you…” he scrambled for words before finally landing on: “Goodness, you gave me a fright!” 

He must have instilled the words with something Lucy understood, for she reached up and grabbed his hand, as though to reassure him. 

Minerva cleared her throat. 

“I told Miss Weasley—since I am not yet her Headmistress—that I would save the pleasure of lecturing her for those more qualified to do so.”

But Percy did not look as though he wanted to give her a lecture, and who could have blamed him? Lucy was bouncing on her heels in excitement, looking the very picture of childhood enthusiasm. 

“Daddy, you see all the portraits?” she said, tugging on his arm. “They’re just pretending to be asleep, I can tell! Except that one.” 

She pointed up at Dumbledore’s portrait, and the figure inside smiled at Percy’s look of disbelief. 

“Good evening, Mr. Weasley,” he said. “It seems you’ve started up quite a family tradition.” 

“I’ve no idea why she—”

“—she’s like you,” Dumbledore interrupted. “Bold, clever...and more than a bit precocious if you don’t mind my saying so. Naturally, we’ve gotten on splendidly.” 

It was clear Percy had been told all those things before, and that they constituted the greatest accomplishment of his life thus far. He grinned down at Lucy. 

“Well, I suppose…”

“I was reading about you in the paper, over Minerva’s shoulder: she’s very good about sitting just so,” Dumbledore continued. “You’ve ruffled quite a few Ministry feathers, it seems.” 

Percy went pink. 

“—yes, well…”

“I must say, I was quite proud to read it,” Dumbledore said, and Percy’s cheeks only flushed further. “I don’t know much about Floo networks or broomstick regulations, but I have gotten fairly good at reading the measure of the man between the lines of a controversy.”

Minerva had pretended to busy herself with something on the very far end of the office, and for a long while, there was silence. Even little Lucy seemed to sense that now was not the time to interrupt. 

“Thank you,” Percy said, finally. “I couldn’t have managed...not anything...not without...thank you.”

His eyes were shining, something Dumbledore had never seen them do before. Oh, he’d known them capable of it, to be sure. But seeing them do it...that was another matter entirely. 

“I can take credit for much in this world, but I cannot take credit for you,” Dumbledore replied. “I knew who you were the moment you came into my office, and if I may take pride in anything, it is in my instincts being—once again—entirely correct.” 

Percy nodded, and this time as silence fell, Lucy couldn’t keep herself from ending it straight away. 

“Daddy, and guess what?” she said. “Guess what? His sister is Ariana— _ my _ Ariana!”

Lucy Ariana Weasley. That was the name she’d proudly given to Dumbledore only twenty minutes prior. Percy looked to Dumbledore, as if for approval. 

“The one who brought you home, she told me,” Dumbledore said. 

“I asked Aberforth…” Percy began. “And he said the middle would be better. I suspect it would hurt him, if it were...and of course, I understand that entirely. But I wanted—”

“Thank you,” Dumbledore said. “A worthier person to bear the name, I cannot imagine.” 

Lucy looked up at her father. 

“Daddy, are we going home soon?”

Percy, rather absently, nodded. 

“Yes, of course. Of course we are. We’ll go right now...Headmistress?”

Minerva’s head popped out of the cabinet she’d been pretending to rifle through.

“We can be off as soon as you’re ready.”

“It was very nice to meet you,” Dumbledore told Lucy, who waved eagerly at him as they approached the fireplace. “And Mr. Weasley?”

Percy stared at him expectantly, looking for all the world like the child he’d been when he first set foot in the office. 

“Teach her,” he said, gesturing to Lucy. “Teach everyone you can. And it will get easier, for all of us. You understand?”

“I do,” Percy said, almost breathlessly. “I will.”

And if Dumbledore was right—and he very often was—Percy was telling the absolute truth.

  
  
  



End file.
